


Echoes

by Eosine



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dark Katniss Everdeen, Dark Peeta Mellark, F/M, Healing, Hunger Games, POV Katniss Everdeen, POV Peeta Mellark, Post-Book 3: Mockingjay, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Epilogue, Slow Romance, growing back together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28998585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eosine/pseuds/Eosine
Summary: There was silence. The true silence of a quietened mind, not the oppressive silence of the empty house around her or her crushed soul within her. The silence that in its vastness echoed and amplified the tiny breath that caught in her throat, the first sound she seemed to have made in weeks, the first breath she seemed to have taken in months.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. 1

Months had passed since he had returned to District 12. Since the shine of the sunlight glancing off his golden hair as he dug in her garden had caught her passing eye; the light refracting from her pupil straight into the fog of her mind, like a lighthouse beacon on a mist choked night.

The sight had jarred the slow, swirling vortex of her mind, the heavy, dark clouds of her existence. For just a moment - it was nothing comprehensible, nothing tangible, but for just a moment, after what had felt like an inconceivable amount of time of whirling, eddying chaos, her mind stilled. There was silence. The true silence of a quietened mind, not the oppressive silence of the empty house around her or her crushed soul within her. The silence that in its vastness echoed and amplified the tiny breath that caught in her throat, the first sound she seemed to have made in weeks, the first breath she seemed to have taken in months.

Her body, which had grown accustomed to endless hours of stupor and immobility, had reacted on instinct instead of command, breaking its trance of inertia and reaching a trembling, pale hand for the front door.

The months that had passed since that day played through Katniss's mind as she found herself, again, reaching to open her front door after having seen Peeta through the window as he was walking down the road.

Progress had been slow between them, since his return. If she was truly being honest with herself then she had to admit that progress had been slow with  _ her.  _ With her apathetic approach towards her therapy her headway had been - if not quite nonexistent, then at least extremely erratic. Peeta had spent months in the Capitol after the end of the war, healing in the care of his doctors and learning methods to manage the after-effects of the trauma inflicted on him. Katniss, however, had, for the most part, retreated into herself, neither able nor willing to summon up the will to exert effort towards her own recovery. Before Peeta's return, it was easy for her to remain lost to the world, slowly allowing herself to drown, drop by drop in her desolation, and wait for death to finally swallow her. However, his presence had disrupted her slow erosion into oblivion. It stopped her atoms from disintegrating and becoming part of the stale air of her empty house. There were moments of clarity now, sharp and painful as they were. There were glints of sunlight off golden hair to catch and hold her attention. And moments where something that could have been the diffused reflection of hope - like the undulating light reflecting off water onto a distant wall - could be seen in her periphery. 

She stood in the open doorway, leaning against the frame, arms folded protectively around her. She couldn't bring herself to step outside just then, not today, needing to feel the safe familiarity of her house at her back. Some days the fear was not as constraining as others; some days she didn’t feel the oppressive weight and incessant pull of the terror pushing her back into the only corner of familiarity she could recognize now. Some days she could sit outside and feel the sunlight on her skin and the breeze dancing like water between her fingers, she could walk out of the Village gates and trace the echoes of what used to be the path leading to the Seam, or the Hob, though she would often lose her nerve and turn back as soon as she would spot someone. This was not one of those days. But from her spot, she watched Peeta as he came out of Haymitch's neglected house, across the road and three houses down from hers.

His eyes seemed unfocused, his mind far away as he walked, hands deep in the pockets of his long, grey coat pulled closed against the late Autumn chill. Peeta, with his house being almost directly opposite hers, always passed her on his daily visits to their old mentor.

The small frown that never seemed to leave Katniss's face these days was ever-present as she watched him draw nearer. It was not a frown of displeasure at what she was seeing as such, more just an outer reflection of her constant struggle to consolidate the reality in front of her eyes with the one her mind still kept throwing her back into. The sheer normalcy of Peeta calmly walking down the road, having just taken some freshly baked bread to feed his friend, pulled on the nerves in her spine making her feel the need to run, scream, to jump into some kind of action. He should be running for cover, dodging bullets and pods, he should be trying to step quietly so  _ they _ don’t hear him - whoever  _ they _ may be. He should be moving towards her with venom in his mind and death on his hands as a gift to her…

Some part of her mind was still desperately trying to convince her that danger had never left. The conflict of logic and instinct was a familiar, anxious burning in her stomach. A part of her wanted to grab Peeta's arm and pull him into the house, out of the exposed empty street and into a safe environment that she knew and could control, while another, smaller part of her felt the danger was still Peeta himself and urged her to retreat into her house and lock the door behind her. 

As the months had slowly passed with Peeta in close proximity that particular knee-jerk instinct had started to dull and dissipate, however not without the occasional outburst from her on her bad days, which always left an echo of despondence etched ever so tenderly on Peeta's face.

As Peeta came level with her house his distant eyes moved in the direction of her door as if by instinct. He stopped when he saw her standing there staring at him, he blinked a few times, his eyes clearing and focusing on his surroundings. They stood there for a few long moments, just looking at each other. Assessing each other. Katniss's frown deepened and a look of acute concentration came over her features, her body tense, her eyes never leaving his. Checking both for signs of injury and signs of violent intent. He imagined this is how she must look at her prey, tunnel-visioned, assessing and registering every tiny movement.

Peeta stayed still, holding the weight of her gaze in the strength of his. He could recognize the conflict on Katniss's face for what it was now, knowing that their past, his past actions, and her fears were gripping into her shoulders with long, clawed fingers. He was learning to recognize the signs of her bad days faster and was working through the process of his emotions, learning not to take it personally, trying to not let her actions trigger his own reaction. So he just stood there, not moving, non-threatening, letting her ride through the impulses her mind was throwing at her. Still holding her gaze he took a deep audible inhale through his nose, holding it for a second and releasing it through his lips. Katniss' eyes immediately registered the small movement and they darted to his mouth, watching. He does it again, deep inhale through the nose, and out through the mouth. Slowly, as if not consciously, she imitates him on his next inhale, eyes still trained intently on him. As her lips part ever so slightly to release her breath along with him, Peeta can see her shoulders relax a fraction, and her fingers, previously digging painfully into her arms, release their vice-like grip. Katniss closes her eyes for a moment and takes a truly deep inhale, releasing her arms as she releases the breath and taking a step out of the door frame. When she opens her eyes again they seem clearer, a slight hint of concern playing around them now instead.

"Hey" Peeta's lips pull up at the corners ever so slightly.

"Hi" She breaths back.

Her voice had lost much of its power due to the months of disuse and the weight of her grief. Since his return, Peeta could probably count the number of sentences she'd uttered to him on his hands. And considering how rarely she left her house he doubted she had exchanged many words with anyone else. That wasn't to say that she wasn't communicating with him in any way, or that on her good days they didn't spend any time in each other's company, however, it was always a very quiet affair. The silence in itself didn't bother Peeta much, after all the chaos they had endured, quiet, still times together seemed like a gift.

A memory of a particularly good day swam through Peeta's mind.

_ It was a couple of months after he had returned and the summer heat was intensifying the colours of the world around them, making it feel like the warmth was imbibing him with the vivid hues. He had been sitting on his front porch, taking in the senses of the season all around him when he noticed Katniss sitting on the grass of her front lawn. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her arms around them.  _

_ In the heat she had removed the gown which at the time seemed to have been an extension of her skin, leaving her in a simple shift, her pale arms reflecting the sunlight while her dark hair seemed to absorb it. The sight of her bare arms made Peeta’s stomach contract in sorrow, in anger, in pride. He hadn’t seen her exposed like this since long before the bomb that obliterated her soul also took with it much of her skin. The scars had clearly healed a great deal in the months that had passed, however, it was still obvious where new skin had been grafted and old had been preserved. The sight didn’t repel him in the slightest; Katniss would forever hold the scars of war, whether outside or in, and the mere fact that she was still breathing was a testament to the true strength of her will, the power of her being. Her scars would be a map of the path it took to gain the freedom of the nation, and in some ways, she had never been more beautiful to him.  _

_ He deliberated for a few minutes, he didn't want to disturb her peace, if that was what she was experiencing. He so rarely saw her outside of her house at all these days that he wondered if he should leave her to her thoughts. Eventually, unable to stay put, he got up and made his way across to her. She must have heard him approach as he made no effort to quiet his footsteps - on the contrary actually, he wanted to give her some warning so as not to startle her, however, she didn't look around. As he drew nearer he could see what she was looking at, the row of Primroses he had planted upon his return. With an arm outstretched she was tentatively touching the pale yellow flowers, feeling their velvet soft petals. _

_ Peeta gently lowered himself to the ground next to her, making sure not to touch her but being close enough for her to feel his presence. Her eyes slowly turned to his, locking gazes for a moment, then they slid back to the flowers. There was such deep sadness within her eyes, yet he saw in them that they were present - seeing, not vacant as they had often been, which he took as a good sign. _

" _ They look like her, don't they?" He asked gently. "Same shade as her hair. Small, delicate…" _

_ Katniss removed her hand, wrapping it around herself again, and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. _

" _ I'm sorry, Katniss." He wondered about the wisdom of his choice of coming over, he'd clearly disturbed her. "Do you want me to leave you alone?" _

_ She released the breath she'd been holding and lay back on the grass. "No," she said quietly after a moment, eyes still closed, "Please stay." _

_ Those words sent the echo of a memory through his mind. He hesitated for a second and then lay down next to her in the grass, still not touching her. Turning his head he could see a lone tear escape the corner of her eye and make its way into her hair. Her face was pale from all the time she spent indoors, her cheeks still had a hollow look to them from not eating enough, and her eyes were shadowed with a darkness that spoke to her lack of restful sleep. _

" _ Do you still get them?" He whispered. _

_ She turned her head to face him, a question in her eyes. _

" _ The nightmares." _

_ She turned back to the sky, eyes seemingly looking at the clouds, but clearly seeing much darker nebulous images. She nodded. _

" _ Me too. Almost every night." He pulled his eyes away from her face and looked at the moving clouds too, wondering at the speed of the air currents making them move that - relatively - fast. A gentle breeze was caressing its way through the grass around them, soothing their raw edges. Peeta could have sworn he felt the lightest caress of fingers on the back of his hard which was lying next to hers, yet it was so fleeting he could just as well as convince himself it wasn't real. _

_ They lay there, side by side, in the late afternoon sun for hours, no need for words. Eventually, both were lulled to sleep by the warmth of the sun, the caress of the breeze, and the mere proximity of each other. Again echoes of their past life whispered around them. Neither was disturbed by a nightmare that afternoon. By the time Peeta woke up the sun was setting and he was alone. _

Coming back to the present Peeta took a step closer to the stairs leading up to her house. She also took a measured step closer, still feeling the pull of the safety behind her but pushing the instinct to retreat down. The focus on her breathing helped her to anchor herself into the present. She knew Peeta wasn't a threat to her, just as the world outside was not a threat. And as if looking through a thin layer of mist she could see the young man who had once, for a brief but deeply ingrained period, been so steadfast to her, so solid and safe. He was changed now, scarred, haunted. She could see how he still fought his internal battles to regain control over his mind at times, to regain and remain  _ himself _ and not succumb to the desolation of being a victim of his experiences. She couldn't understand where he found the strength to fight still. Hadn't they fought enough in their short lives? Hadn't they been through enough conflict and chaos to deserve a time of aimless drifting? However, seeing that strength in him as he fought himself and fought  _ for _ himself was slowly having an effect on her. Just as she unconsciously imitated his breathing, she was also unconsciously mirroring his will to live. Being in his presence made her feel clearer, which although wasn't always welcome, was something different from the constant fog. She was almost experiencing something that could be mistaken for a vague curiosity. Something she knew she used to possess in excess, however now couldn't seem to recall ever feeling. Another feeling which stirred in her when he was near was the echoes of protectiveness. Something that also used to be one of her prime drives in life. To protect. It seemed to be an ingrained instinct which she hadn't fully let go of - something that often warred with her survival instinct that kicked in around him on her bad days, which is why she tended to avoid him as much as she could, not able to get a handle on her internal war.

But seeing the scars, the guarded eyes which sometimes saw things that weren't there, and the general changes in him pulled at a hidden, visceral part of her that threatened to resurface. She would shy away from the feeling as soon as she recognized it, knowing it would lead nowhere but to more pain. And still… she found herself taking another small step forward on her porch.

"Is Sae coming around to make you dinner today?"

She shook her head. The old woman had been coming less frequently as life in District 12 had started to reawaken and repair itself.

"Would you like me to bring something over later?"

Peeta watched her patiently, waiting for her to respond. She was looking over at his house with an intent expression. He had left the light on and the fire going in his living room and in the growing chilled darkness his windows were a siren's call of warmth and safety. Her hands pulled at the ends of her sleeves as she seemed to be deliberating. She looked behind her at her still open door, there was no light coming from inside. No fire was lit and the cold of the air had crept past her and into the house. She looked down, still fidgeting, her frown deepening in the shadows.

Understanding what she wasn't saying Peeta slowly ventured, "Do you...Do you want to come over?"

This was unexpected. She had never stepped foot in his house, nor ever displayed any desire to do so, so it wasn't something that he'd immediately thought to offer. Her eyes darted up to meet his before looking down.

Because Katniss had kept her relative distance from him it wasn't difficult for Peeta to feel strong and in control around her. Keeping him at arm's length had allowed him to become used to their unsupervised propinquity, and to be able to somewhat predict the happenings in his environment. Predictability helped him maintain control; the unexpected or something loud usually set him off. His flashes, however, were nowhere near as potent as they used to be. He never lost full control of himself anymore - not to the point where he was truly a threat to those around him. The voices were there, yes. And images would flash through his mind in a chaotic montage of the grotesque and macabre. Rage would still burn through his limbs - but he could control where he released his violence. The episodes left him feeling nauseated, exhausted, and afraid. But his body was his own, even if sometimes his mind was not. 

He knew how much having the support of his doctors had aided him in his recovery after his mind had been hijacked and the foundation of his reality had been torn from under him. So he was determined to offer Katniss what support he could, knowing she hadn't had any since the end of the war - whether by her own choice or not. However, given their limited interactions she had not yet done anything that had triggered a true reaction from him, not like she had during the war. He had taken this as a mark of positive progress. 

Now however he felt his mind start chattering in whispers. Her unexpected request had set off a small chain reaction of chemicals in his body which seemed to disturb the sediments of venom left in his system. It was like a tiny vortex of wind picking up Fall leaves etched with venomous words, getting louder and faster.  _ Using you...selfish...doesn't care about you...hates you...so selfish...whore!  _ Peeta shut his eyes and shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts before they found a perch in his mind before the images could start playing behind his eyes. When that didn't work and he could feel himself slipping deeper he started the circular breathing Dr. Aurelius had taught him, counting his breaths backward from ten.

_ In. Out. Ten _

_...Wicked person who just uses people...so stupid you couldn’t see...idiot...will kill you... _

_ In. Out. Nine _

_...hurt everyone you love...reason your family is dead...selfish... _

_ In. Out. Eight _

_...stupid...foolish...doesn’t... _

_ In. Out. Seven _

_...will never lov- _

"Peeta"

Her voice came from right in front of his face and his eyes snapped open, releasing breath six. She was standing in front of him, close enough so he could count her eyelashes if he wanted. He hadn’t heard her move away from her door; apparently, she hadn’t lost her ability to tread like a ghost.

Her grey eyes held his firmly, pulling him back from the edge. Her voice had been strong, too. Not the whispers she usually uttered, but a commanding whip. But mostly it was the sound of his name that startled him out of the oncoming episode. It was the first time he'd heard her say his name since before the end of the war and hearing it coming from her it felt like a quieting hush settling through his thoughts. He realized it had been a long time since he'd heard his name being uttered by anyone, let alone her. There is a steadying effect in having your name said to you. A confirmation of your existence, of the space your matter occupies. 

"It's not real. You're okay." Her voice and eyes still held him firm.

His hands had at some point found their way to the back of his neck and he was gripping it as if for dear life. He took one more inhale and, satisfied the voices had truly gone, let it out. With it, some of his earlier strength seemed to go, too. His hands slipped down to his sides, and trembling slightly he shoved them in the pockets of his coat. He hadn't come close to an episode in front of her since their time in the Capitol. He didn't like her seeing him that way, and all he felt like doing was crawling into a dark corner and hiding. He could feel the pull of desolation beckoning to him with promises of peace, quiet, and oblivion. 

But that wasn't him. He had to keep reminding himself of who he used to be, how he would have reacted before. Giving in to the despair would be letting their enemies, their ashes long gone, still have control over him. He wasn't having that.

"Thanks." He gave her a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I-I'm sorry. Come on, let's get inside and out of the cold."

Katniss, whose eyes had been tracing at the marks he undoubtedly had left on his neck, gave him a dubious look, no doubt having taken his reaction as a sure sign of unwelcome.

He sighed. "Just come...please. I'll make us some dinner." Half turning towards his door he reached out, unconsciously, as if to grab her hand and pull her towards his house. She sidestepped him quickly, avoiding his touch and burrowing her hands into her pockets. He paused and looked at his hand, then without looking at her he started towards his front door. Half expecting to see an empty street and her door closed he glanced over his shoulder when he reached the door. She followed one step behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Stepping over his threshold, Katniss wondered about how she had never seen the inside of Peeta's home before. Their interactions since his return had always been either outside or in her house, and before that...Well, Katniss tried not to think about before that. There were too many bittersweet memories and conflicting emotions to untangle; and even had she been inclined to sit down, unravel them all and wind them neatly back into manageable skeins, she wouldn't know where to begin. 

It bothered Katniss that it hadn't even occurred to her to visit his home before today. The small self-loathing part of her - which in the past she rarely gave the time of day to, considering the very pressing and mind-consuming practicalities of survival - jeered at her for her self-centeredness. She could feel a familiar shame eddying around her stomach. Just another pesky side-effect to being around Peeta that she had almost forgotten. She tried to push back at the thoughts, not appreciating this particular corollary of having too much time on her hands with nothing to distract her mind from meandering down very unsavory, unhelpful allies.

Now, as she became enveloped by the walls of Peeta's living room, she was pulled from her frigid musings by the feeling of being plunged into a warm summer evening. She stilled in wonder. The colours of the walls, the ceiling, the furnishings, all spoke of balmy summer sunsets - not overtly, but still unmistakably. Orange sunsets. Plants filled the room, and the blazing fire in the hearth became their surrogate summer sun. It was overwhelming and extraordinary. A stark contrast to her own sterile, neglected dwelling.

She could see Peeta's touch in every detail of the place. She could see his hand in the subtle half murals on the walls; delicate vines and flowers, accented with gold, flowing around the base of the walls just like he used to do them on the bakery cakes. Heavy furniture made from a dark wood that was polished like glass in places but still showed much of the raw wood in others. The soft orange walls that reflected the glow of the fire. It felt almost as if she had walked into Peeta, into his essence and being. Gentle, warm, alive.

He had a gift for seeing the wonder in the world, internalizing it, and then manifesting an even more beautiful version of it back into the world that, to Katniss at least, seemed so cold and unforgiving. Perhaps it just seemed more beautiful to her for having been touched by Peeta's mind. 

She felt as if she'd never truly seen Peeta fully until now. The Peeta that had nothing to do with her. The Peeta that created beautiful things and thrived when she didn't interfere. She hadn’t even realised there was more to see. Just more proof of her lack of attention. A part of her ached at the thought. She couldn't understand it. Even now, after all they had been through, after all his suffering - his torture, how was he still able to live such a beautiful reality? Something inside Katniss stirred, very faintly. Was it admiration? Jealousy? Her emotions remained as much of a mess and mystery to her now as they had been for many years, and her months of repression in isolation hadn't gained her any enlightenment. Surprisingly. But standing there in the warm light, it didn't seem to bother her as much as it usually would. This was not a place for dwelling on dark thoughts. 

He had been watching her, leaning against the doorframe and fidgeting, with shy apprehension in his eyes. Nobody had seen the inside of his home since he'd started renovating the house. The only people he would feel comfortable showing it to in this state were Haymitch and Katniss, and given that neither were often inclined to venture past their own living rooms very often, it had been a solo show so far. Now, with fresh eyes taking in his obsessive regurgitation of peaceful moments that he tried to surround himself with, he felt self-conscious. Excessive; not a trait anyone from 12 looks kindly on. Most would say this was Capitolite behaviour. Maybe it was. Maybe they had changed him more than he cared to admit.

When she looked at him, wide eyes asking the questions her mouth wouldn't, he grinned and rubbed the back of his neck, wincing slightly from the marks he'd left there earlier.

"It's um... It's part of my therapy. Taking back control of my surroundings, and all. I didn't actually want to come back here - to this house, I mean, when they cleared me to leave the Capitol. I knew they swept the houses for all the surveillance tech after the war and disabled them, but I couldn't see it as mine. It still felt like this was their turf - like I was living by their standards. It wasn't home. But I didn't have much of a choice, so I changed it. Not just this room, but upstairs, too. It's kept me busy..." He was rambling, not sure why he was feeling the need to justify his motives to Katniss. "I know. It's a bit much, isn't it?"

"No," She whispered, processing his words."It's beautiful."

He smiled softly, and this time it touched his eyes.

"I'm going to make us something to eat."

Katniss nodded absently, her eyes and thoughts lost in the crackling fire. Peeta half turned to head to the kitchen, then caught himself and hesitated.

"Katniss?"

"Hm?"

"Come with me?" His voice betraying the barest hint of apprehension. He couldn't shake the feeling that he would come back to an empty room if he left her here.

Katniss dragged her gaze away from the flames and looked over at him. She just stood there for a moment, taking in his face; not like she had earlier - assessing for danger or injury, but just absorbing it in the warm light. His face in this light reminded her of a moment that seemed like a lifetime ago. She realised it had been a very long time since she'd seen Peeta's face lit by a sunset. It couldn't possibly have been that evening on the beach…during the Quell... could it? The fingers of her right hand absently rubbed together, the ghost of a pearl rolling between them. That night had been the last night she had had the old Peeta. The last peaceful moment, stolen amidst chaos, that she had spent with him before the Capitol had irrevocably changed him. Other memories from that evening flirted with the edges of her mind, threatening to remind her of the feeling of warm breath against her face, soft lips comforting and igniting her, azure eyes piercing through her. She looked down and cleared her throat, pushing away the memories before they invaded her senses. She slipped past him and walked down the hall to the well-lit kitchen, avoiding his gaze.

The kitchen at least still looked recognizably similar to hers, though the colour was different and it was stocked with equipment she couldn't name, let alone guess the function of. Even if she didn't know Peeta spent most of his time in here it would be evident. There was a feeling of life, of utility in here that wasn't in hers. Although much the same could be said for the rest of her house, too.

"Will you make us some tea while I get started on the food?" Peeta asked while selecting ingredients from the fridge.

Relieved to have something to do with her hands Katniss looked around and spied the kettle; filling it with water she set it over the stove. She turned the knob to light the gas; it clicked a few times but didn't light. She turned it again and this time the spark caught and blue flames burst violently into place. Katniss let out a gasp and jumped backward, knocking into Peeta who had just placed a pan of chopped onions on the ring next to hers. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, but at the touch, she jumped again and backed into the island in the middle of the kitchen. Her jaw set and her eyes wide, but hard.

Peeta raised his hands, taking a step back, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...Sorry."

Katniss pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes for a moment and took a breath, leaning against the island to steady herself. She dropped her hands and opened her eyes, shaking her head.

"Don't be sorry. I just…" She gestured helplessly to the stove. Peeta understood at once.

"Oh, Katniss." Peeta mentally kicked himself. "I wasn't thinking. Uh, just take a seat. I've got this."

He turned and lit the hobs quickly, blocking it from her view while he did. Katniss wiped her palms on her legs and tried to pull herself together, her hands were trembling slightly. This was ridiculous. She felt foolish; jumping at a damn gas stove. But the unexpected jump of the flame had sent images flashing in her mind of Prim's wide eyes, locked on hers for the last moment of her life before the burst of the bomb obliterated her. The sight had been seared onto Katniss's mind worse than any of her physical burns.

Being locked quietly away in her house allowed Katniss to usually pull the clouds over these images and not have to relive them, but whenever Peeta was around she couldn't seem to get a solid grasp on her protective cover, it just turned to insubstantial mist in her fingers. Most days she couldn't bear it, which was why she often locked her door and didn't answer when he knocked. But today she had felt as if she needed to try. At least try to push through. Well, she had tried, and it wasn't getting easier. She wasn't feeling stronger.

Anxiety started bubbling in her stomach and an overwhelming need to escape started twitching the muscles in her legs. She was preparing to make a dash for the back door leading out from the kitchen when she looked over at Peeta. His back was still turned, stirring the sizzling onions, giving her space to compose herself - or an opening to escape in privacy. On the back of his neck, she could make out the dark smudges of oncoming bruises from where he'd grabbed himself earlier. The sight of them stilled her feet. The evidence of his painful self-control nudged at her protective instinct and glued her in place. She wondered had she not called him back from his oncoming episode what state he would be in now; what would have happened if she had retreated into her house as she'd wanted and left him on the street? He was just as broken as she was, though from his relaxed posture over the stove you wouldn't know it.

So instead of running, Katniss took a breath and looked around, spotting the cupboard with the tea. She poked around the contents and fished out a tin with dried peppermint and a teapot, taking them back to the center island.

"Does it still hurt?" Peeta had turned around and was watching her, his voice gentle. She raised her eyes to him, a frown asking her question. His eyes were tracing up her arms, her shoulders, her neck, as though he could see her burns and scars through her layers. Her frown deepened and she looked down, measuring the peppermint into the pot, not answering.

When the kettle started to whistle Peeta brought it over and poured the boiling water into the pot.

"When I woke up in the hospital after our first games, I felt like my leg was on fire; it was the pain that woke me up. It felt like the Mutt's teeth were still in there, gnawing away. I was disoriented and I couldn't understand why the painkillers were working everywhere but there - why they stopped suddenly just under my knee. It was only when I reached down to feel if it was still bleeding that I realised it was gone. I started panicking. I think I threw up. There were all these strange people in the room. I couldn't make out what they were saying. I didn't know where you were. I tried getting out of bed but the doctors sedated me again." He swallowed, "I had nightmares that night, that we were still in the arena and the Gamemakers were cutting us up piece by piece." Peeta paused, shuddering, eyes trained on the steam rising from the steeping tea between them. Katniss's eyes were wide, she was barely breathing. He had never told her this before. She felt sick. "I didn't remember that until a few months ago when I had the nightmare again." He looked up at her. "I still feel pain in it sometimes, even though it's not there. Even though I know it's not there."

Katniss swallowed, looking down at her arms, contemplating; chewing the inside of her lip. Peeta smiled to himself at this familiar gesture. Slowly she pulled her sleeves up to her elbows and laid her arms on the counter, revealing her patched skin. Most of the time she didn't look at herself. She had removed all the mirrors in her house a long time ago; it made it easier to forget that she was a living entity when she didn't catch her reflection on her rare wanderings around the house. Sometimes when she did look at her body, she couldn't muster up the energy to feel anything about it. However sometimes, when she felt awake - like now, the sight of her body made Katniss shudder with repulsion. Not so much for its appearance but more for the memory it burned into her.

Some parts of her skin were pale pink where the new skin was growing, some of it scarred white permanently, shiny and puckered, some of it still her original olive hue, though pale from lacking any sunlight.

"They're healed. Mostly. But they still hurt."

Her voice was hushed, as though she were ashamed to admit her pain. Peeta knew the scars traversed most of her body, and he ached at the thought of her suffering. He had suffered a great deal while his leg healed, however, he could say that at least his injury was isolated to one area of his body. He imagined Katniss laying in bed, paralyzed from the pain radiating from her arms, her torso, her stomach and stubbornly refusing to take medication to help, or otherwise alone and unable to call for help.

Peeta's eyes wandered her skin, transfixed by it. He raised his hand slowly, hovering it over her arm, not touching but tracing lightly down from elbow to palm, to fingertips, mere molecules separating their skin. A hum seemed to vibrate between them. He expected her to pull away, but she stayed put, keeping her eyes cautiously trained on his face.

"You're beautiful." He stated, simply, almost absentmindedly.

A grimace crossed Katniss's mouth, dismissing his words before they could lodge themselves in her. Her nostrils flared and eyes shifted over his shoulder and suddenly widened.

"Peeta!"

Peeta spun around, "Shit!" he cursed as he saw the black smoke billowing out of the forgotten pan on the stove. He quickly wrapped his hand in a cloth and grabbed the handle, taking the offending pan over to the sink and dropping it in unceremoniously, dowsing it in water and causing steam to fill half the kitchen along with the acrid scent of burned onions.

He leaned against the sink and dragged his hands down his face in exasperation.

Katniss had her hands pressed over her mouth, to stem the stench but also to try and suppress the snort of laughter that, regardless of her efforts, escaped unbidden between her fingers.

Peeta looked at her, a softness coming over his eyes, and he let out a chuckle.

"Quite a pair we're making tonight, huh?"

Katniss pressed her lips into a line, holding back a smile. There was a lightness in her eyes which Peeta hadn't seen there in a long time. He tried to remember when last he'd heard her laugh, but it was buried in a mess of memories from before his capture. He certainly hadn't heard anything of the sort since then. He sighed and surveyed the mess, opening the back door and windows to get the air flowing.

"So, sandwiches it is, then."


End file.
